I want some loneliness justified by my location.
I want to purchase a piece of the earth.
I want to be in on that giant joke.
I want a fence around my family.
I want the burden of aging infrastructure.
The urge to complain about all the things
I own. I want the place to look overgrown.
Like, potted plants in the bathroom.
Big buxom banana leaves. Ferns.
I want an alarm. I want to love a place
so much I install a siren.
I want a gut renovation.
Maintain some original details
without all the darkness and wasted space.
I want some land. I want the earth
and the sky above it.
I want the mineral rights, the air rights.
I want the right to take legal action
if someone encroaches on my boundaries.
I want to be right when I say
this whole damn thing is mine.
Mary Block lives and writes in her hometown of Miami, Florida. Her poems have been featured in Nimrod Journal, Sonora Review, Rattle, and Conduit, among other publications. She is a graduate of New York University's Creative Writing Program, a 2012 finalist for the Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation, and a Pushcart Prize nominee.